“Uh, yeah. Do I need to stamp a back off bitches label on your ass?”
“Are you jealous?” I ask, unable to stop self-satisfaction from spreading across my face. “Anne Marie’s mom is like thirty-five.”
She narrows her eyes. “Even worse.”
Chuckling, I lean into her. “I’ve already got my cougar, Opal. No need to bring out the claws.” I plant a kiss on her mouth. “Though they’re pretty hot.” I shiver, remembering how she sometimes digs her nails into my ass when I’m inside of her.
She rests her forehead on mine. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking, aren’t you?”
I groan. “Only if you’re thinking of all the ways I’m going to make you come later.”
“Okay,” she breathes. “We need to change the direction of this conversation.” She tries to pull away, but I follow her, and give her another, mostly chaste kiss. After an entire afternoon of not having guilt-free access to her mouth, I can’t seem to resist.
The rumbling sound of a drink being finished off through a straw interrupts our moment. Pulling away, I find my daughter staring at us, mischief written all over her.
Trying to keep a serious face, I ask in my most neutral tone, “Can I help you with something, Rosa?”
“Nope,” she says cheekily. “Just needed a drink of my juice.”
“Sounds like it’s pretty much gone.” She gives it another pull and I feel a grin forming. “Go play, chismosa.”
Calling her nosy doesn’t dim her delight the least. “Okay!” I follow her progress and find the other two girls also watching us from the top of the jungle gym, grins firmly in place. Rubbing my palms down my face, I turn back to Ellie.
“She’s just curious,” she says.
“Yeah, let’s go with that.” I grab my Coke and shake it gently. There’s nothing but ice left.
“Their Spanish is pretty good.”
“You think?” I ask, lowering the cup back to the table. We’ve been slipping in and out of Spanish all day. “I feel like we use the same sentences over and over. As soon as anything is difficult to say, we switch to English.”
She nods. “That’s normal since at school and work you have to think and solve problems in English. You just need more input that comes from Spanish sources.”
“You mean other than telenovelas?”
Laughing, she takes the last French fry off my tray. “Yeah, probably. But they can’t hurt, right? I used to watch them with Amelia when I was little too. So educational.”
Arriving home in the late afternoon, I have every intention of dropping the girls off and then logging some alone-time with Ellie on the pretext of having to drive her home. Unfortunately, life rarely goes to plan.
As I’m helping the girls climb out of the truck, my grandmother is dropped off by a neighbor fresh from her Saturday afternoon knitting circle. Her face comes alive with interest when she sees Ellie. She even breaks out her English for the occasion.
“Ellie habla Español, Abuela,” Carmen informs her.
My grandmother gives me a suspiciously accusing look, one that morphs into delight when it’s turned on Ellie. “¿De verdad, mija?”
¿Mija? I’m the one delighted now if a little perplexed. It seems Ellie merits being called dear or sweetheart on principle, and my grandmother is quickly rewarded as Ellie turns on her natural charm that’s only amplified by her slightly lispy Spanish accent.
Before I know it, Ellie has graciously accepted a dinner invitation and is being led into the house, arm linked with my grandmother’s, her head bent to make up for their wildly differing heights so she can hear what’s being said.
“¿Ya vienes?” Carmen asks, reaching for my hand. Are you coming? Everyone has already gone in the house and she’s peering up at me with concern.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Inside, I’m hit with a twinge of nervousness. I’ve never been to Ellie’s parents’ place, but I know it has to be better this. Glancing around the small, cluttered living room that’s immediately inside the front door, I can’t find it in me to be embarrassed though. Yeah, the furniture with its floral pattern is dated and kind of dumpy, but this is home. And seeing Ellie’s sneakers lined up near the door with everyone else’s only makes it feel more so.
Following their voices to the kitchen, I find that Ellie has been installed in my spot at the table, a glass of horchata in front of her. Rosa and Daniela are singing Ellie’s praises, telling our grandmother how she made our day so much more interesting than it usually is. If it weren’t so true, I think I’d be offended.
“Where’s he going to sit?” Carmen interrupts sternly after assessing the seating arrangement. My little sister is always going to bat for me.
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “I can sit over here.”
The chatter immediately starts up again with refrains of Ellie did this, or Ellie said that.
A few minutes into the narrative, I send her a questioning look to make sure she’s okay. She tells me she’s fine by way of a broad smile that I can’t help but return. I’m sinking into the pleasure of the moment when I catch sight of my grandmother’s slightly surprised, slightly triumphant expression at the exchange. My exasperation only appears to make her happier.
A quarter of an hour later, Desiree and Mari come in together and I have to repress the very real urge to jump up and physically run interference between Ellie and my oldest sister. Not that I could stop Desiree from making her signature cutting comments if she wanted to unleash them. Luckily, Desi is nothing but polite and curious . . . or is it intrigued? Everyone is. Soon Ellie is being bombarded by question after question. I’d intervene on her behalf if I thought she needed it, but she handles the questions, even the more probing ones, with ease, her Spanish flowing effortlessly. Plus, I learn a few things, like she prefers ponies to Barbies, sweet to salty, she drives a Jetta that she got for her sixteenth birthday, and she has two nieces and no nephews.
When my grandmother stands up and announces that it’s time to get dinner started, Ellie offers her assistance, but she’s told in no uncertain terms that guests don’t help. Daniela invites/begs Ellie to see their bedroom, and the other two immediately join the chorus.
Ellie looks to me for . . . permission, I guess. I shrug subtly, telling her it’s up to her if she wants to take that on. I’m assuming she knows she’ll be stuck in there for a while. In return, she directs a little grin my way as the girls tug her out of the room.
Desiree’s snort of derision yanks my attention from the now empty doorway. “No mames, Scotty.” She’s gaping at me, my grandmother and Mari also staring, with similar looks of disbelief on their faces. “No mames,” Desiree repeats, just in case I didn’t catch what loosely translates to Are you fucking kidding me? the first time.
“What?” I ask tetchily, feeling the smile I didn’t know was on my face falling away.
“Did you see that?” Mari says, horrified. “They’re already having conversations with their eyes. I think I’m going to gag.”
“We’re going to need an enormous bucket,” Desiree adds.